


to the extent that it's absurd

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Everybody already looks at them like they're animals in a zoo anyway, Louis says—might as well give them something to stare at.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	to the extent that it's absurd

**Author's Note:**

> This is about some of the band's slightly weird behaviour during the Australasian leg of the tour. I don't really know what it is, man, it came out of nowhere. Title from 'Clark Gable' by The Postal Service.

It all starts with Harry's 'What Makes You Beautiful' solo. They actually have good, pure intentions with that—at least in the beginning—because Harry always gets so anxious about it and they just want him to _relax_. And, all right, maybe pinching his bum isn't the best way to go about that, but it really seems to work. With his back to them, he doesn't know when they're going to strike, and he gets so distracted waiting for the attack that he completely forgets to be nervous about the singing. 

Perhaps they start taking it a little too far, Louis sometimes grabbing tightly at Harry's arse with both hands, while Liam ruffles his hair at the same time and makes Harry flail hilariously in a sudden loss of composure. It's not terribly professional, but it's _fun_ , and sometimes that seems more important. Because once they stop enjoying themselves, they're in trouble; they need fun for this thing to survive. The concerts are always a good time anyway—they've never exactly taken them seriously—but it's nice to reduce the pressure just that little bit more, now that they're in a new country with new fans and everything's slightly more nervewracking.

By the time they've been in Australia for a week, though, they're all starting to go a bit mental. The days are packed full with interviews, and they all start to blur together, the questions always the same— _how about all those screaming fans? Who's your celebrity crush? What do you look for in a girl?_ They've already been making bets on which are going to come up—each one of them has picked a particular question and every time it gets asked the others have to pay him a dollar. Zayn's winning by far with _who'd play you in a movie?_ despite the fact that he still can't get Luke Pasqualino's name right.

But it's just getting _so_ predictable that even cash rewards aren't really helping anymore. For some of the interviews they're separated, which is probably for the best in the grand scheme of things—journalists are starting to get visibly uncomfortable with the amount of inside jokes the five of them have, the number of times they'll exchange knowing looks or apparently inexplicable fits of giggles or secret hand signals lost on the rest of the world. But it's _hard_ , being apart—they're so used to being together and it makes them fidgety and distracted when they don't have the others to turn to. 

Harry can't focus at all when Louis is being interviewed without him, keeps lurking behind the interviewer's back and trying to get Louis's attention. He makes funny faces until Louis loses his train of thought, and Louis gets him back for it later—peering around the door during an interview of Harry and Niall's, making odd bird-like sounds and then hiding again. It really shouldn't be so hilarious but it _is_ , even to Liam, who keeps losing it every time Louis ducks out of sight with a goofy grin on his face. Eventually Niall cracks up and explains to the clueless journalist, who's obviously pretty peeved, and they all know they should feel bad but can't quite bring themselves to. "Serves 'im right for asking the same questions everybody else does," says Louis afterwards, unapologetic and shrugging. 

Louis is the most fed-up of all of them and predictably ups the ante, making strange noises in the middle of a group interview next time. To everyone's surprise, Liam is the one who joins in, until the two of them are barking like dogs at random moments and trying desperately not to laugh, covering their mouths and avoiding looking at each other, keeping their innocent expressions fixed. "You two are gonna get _murdered_ by management," says Zayn when the interview is over, but he's laughing so hard he can barely get the words out, and Louis pats Liam on the back and says, "We're corrupting you, aren't we, Li?" in a sort of proud way that makes Liam's heart swell.

They know they must all be spending way too much time together, because they don't even really communicate in normal ways anymore—they're always saying the same thing at the same time, or knowing what each other are thinking without anyone having to voice it. They can tell from the slightest little bit of body language that Zayn's in a mood, and they can work out how homesick Niall is feeling from what he chooses to eat that particular day. Liam will lose his grip if he's stressed and start to forget that he's supposed to be the sensible one, and the more hectic things get the more Harry and Louis cling to each other, needing to touch at all times.

They're all like that, really. It's a comfort thing; impromptu cuddles whenever they get the chance, and smaller things in more public or professional settings, thighs pressed together on a small sofa or arms thrown over shoulders. In private they sprawl, limbs thrown casually over limbs, heads resting on stomachs or laps—comfortable, calm, and safe. They should probably be sick of each other at the end of the day, really, but it's strange to be all alone and they find themselves always sneaking into each other's hotel rooms at night just to avoid the odd feeling of isolation, so temporary yet so unsettling.

Louis's the ringleader of this, of course, and wants to take their silly little games further, the press sending him out of his mind with boredom even though he won't admit it. He starts giving them random words to work into the interviews, sometimes clumsily long ones, and then whenever they manage to slip them into a sentence Louis has the nerve to point out the odd choice of adjective or tease them about swallowing dictionaries. 

Maybe it's all a way of regaining some control over their lives. Since the moment they arrived in Australasia, they've been surrounded by cameras almost non-stop, even in their downtime, and things are so busy and so rigidly organised when it comes to publicity that they're all starting to get a little sick of it, acting out just to have some say in something. And it's not that bad, not really—they're still so grateful for all of it and overwhelmingly flattered, but they're starting to go a little loopy from lack of sleep and lack of privacy, and maybe this is just a way to try and stay sane.

There's something else, as well, about the way that it's only the five of them who know how this feels. They've spent so long in each other's company doing the exact same thing that they're starting to develop some kind of weird mind-meld, everybody always on the same wavelength these days, to an almost ridiculous degree. On the way out of their hotel in Auckland one morning Louis trips exaggeratedly and falls, and the others go down right along with him without giving it a second thought, collapsing onto the carpet and then clambering back to their feet, continuing on their way like nothing happened and leaving their security guys completely bewildered. In an interview later that day, Harry rolls up the sleeves of his t-shirt, and Louis and Niall immediately copy him, Zayn and Liam following and barely even noticing the bemused looks their interviewer gives them. There's an odd thrill in it, this thing that the five of them have that no one else can touch. Everybody already looks at them like they're animals in a zoo anyway, Louis says—might as well give them something to stare at.

Wellington the next night is a little ridiculous, really, because it's their last show and they want to make it as much fun as they can, and so they're doing a full-on jazz square behind Harry during his solo, making him nearly lose it completely and then join in. They swap clothes with each other just for the hell of it, sick of stylists. They start playing around with the lyrics 'cause they're tired of just singing them as they are, acting out some of the lines instead and changing certain words altogether. Actually, Harry's been singing _take off your clothes_ instead of _but they stay closed_ for a while now—some dare from Louis that the others never really questioned—but tonight they take it further than ever, singing ridiculously about drugs and Travis and wrong-sized shoes. 

It's all so stupid because it's not as if no one will notice and they know that, but in the moment, onstage, it doesn't _matter_. It's just the five of them, acting like idiots because they rarely get the chance these days. They get giddy, all caught up in each other, focusing more on their own weird games than on the audience, and they don't want it to end, but it has to.

The next day they're on a plane, headed home, and it's a relief because they need it, badly, the quiet calm privacy and the comfort of their families. But at the same time it's going to be a shock to their systems, a sudden change—they're grown used to the insanity of this, embraced it, and they might _need_ a little time apart but they don't _want_ it. They sleep on each other during the flight, pour little piles of sugar onto Louis when he's the only one left snoozing, and they giggle and touch and don't talk much because it's not necessary, hasn't been for a while. 

"A month," murmurs Liam. He doesn't need to elaborate.

"A month," the others echo back, and it's bittersweet, a reminder of the blissful time off and at the same time a reassurance that it won't last long. A month is all they've got until this starts up again. Though, if they're truthful, it never _really_ stops.


End file.
